


Crucially soft spot

by Televa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, hurt england
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Televa/pseuds/Televa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France was utterly confused. He didn't know where to go, which plae was the right one, but still he couldn't stay where he was. England, his beloved Angleterre, needed him and he couldn't even find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crucially soft spot

**Author's Note:**

> England and France (and Scotland) belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, and therefore I gain no profit from writing this. And, as always, I have to remind you that my mother tongue isn't English, so there might be some sort typos. Could please be kind and let me know if something catched you eyes? Enjoy!

"Please come."

A simple, two-worded text message had made France halt his weekly meeting with his president and prime minister and head back to home, heart and mind filled with worry. It was not like England to ask, to plead - especially something from him. There was something going on, France was sure of it, and it made him unease.

The drive to his home in the outskirts of Paris felt so much longer than usually, so when the familiar figure of his house came to sight, France let out a sigh he hadn't even realised holding. He turned off the car, took his stuff from the backseat and headed inside. Being home always made him relax automatically, but this time it was different: he just abandoned his suitcase and laptop case.

He took a deep breath and listened.

There were no other voices coming from inside, not even the slightest cracle or thumps. England must've gone outside. But where? Where would he be found from?

France quickly made a mental list of all the possible places, but soon neared it down to two: garden and the woods behind the house. Garden was his first shot, but there were no signs of England in there, and all his gardening tools were neatly set inside the big wooden box in the terrace. France checked the box, but it was untouched. So, woods it was then, but where there? Even though the forest looked so much bigger than it actually was, France wasn't the one who could say knowing the place like the back of their hands.

Slowly entering the "extra backyard" as England ofter referred to it, he tried to recall the places England has showed him: the old treehouse, that one small hill just in the enter of the forest, the huge log near their home, the edge of the South-Western corner which was the best place to admire sunset...

France was utterly confused. He didn't know where to go, which plae was the right one, but still he couldn't stay where he was. England, his beloved Angleterre, needed him and he couldn't even find him. When he was just about to make up his mind and go where his instics told him to, a series of sudden rustling came from behind. The Frenchman turned around - only to find England standing there. His hair was even a greater mess than normally, and his face and shoulders were covered in scratches. There were visible tear marks running across his cheeks. England looked so hurt, so vulnerable, and it made France's heart ache. He opened his arms.

"Arthur."

It was all that was said before England tumbled into France's waiting arms. When he felt the strong grip that enfolded him, he finally let it go and bursted into tears. For a long time he just wept there clinging his dear life to France, not knowing what to do. It took so long for him to calm down even somehow, and the whole time France only soothed his beloved telling him it was okay, no one was going to hurt him when he was around (a lie. They were countries after all, but if someone was going to hurt England, they had to fight with France first).

When it began to rain, England found himself being lead back to home. The stream of tears had finally ended and the man was silent, excluding a couple of random hiccups that managed to escape. Once inside, comfortably sitting in the livingroom a hot cup of tea in their hands, England spoke. His voice was harsh and full of bitterness.

"They came to visit me earlier today. My brothers, I mean. They... they were surprisingly nice first, but then they began to pick on me. It was only something about my looks, nothing I couldn't tolerate, but it just got worse. You know how Scotland has always been good with finding people's soft spots and using them against them? He'd figured mine so long ago: you. This just happened to be the first time he used it."

France couldn't say anything. It was never a good thing when England's brothers decided to "simply drop by", and if they'd been really so arduous, it was no wonder they'd made England so emotional. Scotland had always been a handful, but when the other brothers were mixed in... they were a living mental catastrophe.

"Arthur, mon ange, no matter what those bâtards said about you or me, they are wrong. I love you, and the next time they come, call me," France said, his voice soft. The other's explanation had covered only a part of story, and the blond was eager to find out the rest of it. "Now, love, tell me what happened to get you this covered in scratches."

"You kind of said it already. I know it's a tad childish, but after I managed to get to idiots out, I was so mad at myself for not being able to defend myself or you. How I could've once been a great pirate, the personification of the British Empire if I'm not able to defend the man I love against my mere brothers? I raged. I ran outside with only phrases of self-accusations running through my mind. I just ran and ran, not giving a single fuck where i headed or how hard the branches hit me. I deserved it."

The only thing that France could do was to capture England back into his arms. He couldn't care less whether or not he knocked his teacup down in the progress, the only thing that mattered was to console his love.

"I'm sorry I'm so weak, Francis," the Brit muttered.

"You could never be weak, Arthur. You are a strong and wonderful man and a bunch of other things, but weak is not one of them. I simply adore and love you, and nothing could prove me wrong when I say that you are perfect just the way you are, no matter what the others may think."

England was sure that if he hadn't cried everything out already, he'd surely do it now. Oddly though, instead of tears something popped up in his mind, something his dear Queen Elizabeth had once said before honourably passing away.

"All my possessions for a moment of time."

But he, unlike his ex-Queen, had a time of several lifetimes, and that was enough for him.

　

 


End file.
